Density
by Sen Graham
Summary: Ireland and Canada have a conversation about how dense some people can be, namely each other.  One-sided Netherlands/Canada, One sided Canada/Prussia, unresolved France/Ireland, one sided Germany/Ireland


Density

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><p>"So…who's the guy?" asked Ireland slyly, dropping herself lazily in the bar stool next to her nephew.<p>

"W-what do you mean aunty?" replied Canada, gingerly sipping his Molson brew.

Ireland arched a thick red brow and looked fixatedly on the young nation. The Northern country had been staring off into space all night with a glassy eyed, blissful expression on his face. Ireland was far from being an expert on love or relationships, but she could tell when someone was so completely and obviously head over heels. Even a blind sociopath could not have missed it. Ireland downed a shot of whiskey, waiting for her nephew to make a reply, only to have her gaze back awkwardly at her, as if he could not understand the question.

"I asked who's the guy? The one you're thinking about," explained Ireland.

"H-how do you know I like guys…?" asked Canada quietly.

"Well, given the male to female ratio with our kind, you have more of a likelihood of preferring men than women. I read a study on it once," shrugged Ireland, "That and you legalized gay marriage before most of us, you're related to France, and you seem to be one of few male countries that look at Ukraine's face when she talks."

Canada flushed and nodded. He had not thought he had made his preference very obvious. He was certainly not closeted, but preferred not to announce his preference to the world, but rather keep that knowledge to himself among close family and friends. He had told England, France had guessed at it and guessed correctly, he had told America, but was not entirely sure the loud nation had heard him. And now Ireland knew. Canada marvelled at the fact that she took the news do calmly, considering her conservative and religious nature. Instead, she had calmly sat down beside him and asked him casually about a male crush.

"So, is it Netherlands?" asked Ireland finally.

"Netherlands?" asked Canada, flushing slightly, "He's a…he likes…well you've been to Amsterdam haven't you?"

"Unfortunately…" groaned Ireland, "Thanks Matthew, I'd suppressed those memories until now. A word of advice lad, never, ever, let Wales read the map."

Ireland shuddered involuntarily and downed the last of her whiskey, slamming the glass down audibly on the varnished bar. Canada laughed softly, feeling a little guilty about the shadenfreude he was experiencing and patted his aunt on the back sympathetically. "So what makes you think I'd like a guy who's…into that?"

"That's not all he's into. He's quite the painter, damn good football player as well, and you can't really go wrong with someone who likes bunnies and tulips," said Ireland.

"Yes but, that doesn't explain why you think I like him," pressed Canada, "I mean, I'm not offended, but I can't see why you would jump to that conclusion."

"Well, he sends you flowers ever year, hasn't missed one yet," said Ireland softly, looking at Canada with a harsh and frank honesty, "And you helped his royal family, liberated him from Germany almost single handed."

Canada shook his head and smiled softly, "No, you have it all wrong Aunty, he only does that because he's thankful. It's not like out anniversary or anything. We're just friends."

Ireland looked up at Canada, almost disappointed but did not say anything. How could Canada be so dense? He never complained openly about feeling invisible, but it was obvious that he was not happy with being ignored and forgotten. Ireland herself even forgot his name on occasion and accidentally tripped over him, not realizing he was standing in front of her. Despite that, there was another nation who remembered, who cared, who without fail sent tulips to the young nation every year. Someone who took the time and effort to remember, to notice, to get off his ass and give a damn. Ireland found it hard to believe Canada had not noticed the older nation's obvious feelings for him. How could he not want to reciprocate with someone who cared so much and showed it so blatantly?

"Well if it's not Netherlands, who could it possibly be?" asked Ireland, "Russia? You two are pretty close neighbours. Maybe Cuba?"

"Cuba's like Netherlands, just a friend I can hang out with. Though…he can be a very violent forgetful friend," mumbled Canada with a slight shudder, "And Russia's a nice guy, but he's kind of scary."

"Well, who is it then? And if you tell me it's Alfred I promise I will douse you with holy water and perform an exorcism rite, right here in this bar," threatened Ireland warily.

"Ew, no!" exclaimed Canada, "We're brothers! That's gross! Why would you even think that?"

"It's not like it's never happened before…" mumbled Ireland, warily watching Belarus follow Russia around the bar like a pretty murderous shadow.

"Well…if you really want to know…" whispered Canada softly, "It…it's Prussia."

"What?" exclaimed Ireland. She certainly hadn't seen that coming.

"Yeah…Cuba introduced us, and we had pancakes and…well…I can't stop thinking about him," mumbled Canada.

Ireland arched her brow again, "Prussia? He's just…so unlike you. He's loud, rude, arrogant, obnoxious, can't get five words out without saying the word 'awesome' or talking about his…his…you know what…"

"Five meters?" offered Canada.

Ireland flushed and leaned over the bar, cupping her hand in her cheek to hide the spread of pink across her face, "Yes, that."

Canada shrugged and watched the bubbles and condensation play around his half full glass of beer, "Well, opposites attract, you know?"

Ireland rolled her eyes. Prussia. Canada wanted Prussia. Personally she would have stuck with a man who remembered her and sent her flowers. She could not really understand what it was Canada saw in Prussia, given her own experiences with the man had been less than savory. She even recalled in the eighteenth century when her brigades worked for France, Prussia had tried to kidnap her men to make his own Irish brigade. Their relationship had more or less gone downhill from there. Netherlands had not exactly been good to her either, particularly where William of Orange was concerned, but he obviously cared for Canada. Ireland had no idea if Prussia even felt the same way for her nephew, let alone knew if he existed.

The bar tender snapped her out of her thoughts, sliding an orange, extremely girly looking cocktail in front of her. Ireland wrinkled her nose and stared at the drink as if it had insulted her dignity. "Excuse me, but what the hell is this, and why is it sparkling like a pansy vampire that was not written by Bram Stoker?"

The bar tender shrugged, and pointed across the room, "That guy sent it to you."

He pointed at France who was locked in a game of cards with Spain and Prussia. He waved and winked at her before drawing a card and flashing the King of Hearts in Ireland's direction. Ireland scrunched up her nose and flashed her middle finger at him and the two soon began a strange pantomime of silent insults and flirtations, before France returned to his game. Canada raised his hand, as if he were about to wave in their direction, but turned around to face the bar again, losing his courage.

"Yes, but that doesn't explain why it's fruitier than Jedward, and why there's a bleeding umbrella in it," Ireland nearly growled, as if the drink had just insulted her nonexistent masculinity.

"One and a half ounce of Bailey's Irish cream, three quarter once of Cointreau orange liqueur, and another three quarters Grand Marnier orange liqueur," said the bar tender, "He called it an Irish-French kiss."

Ireland smiled, a cruel, nearly psychotic smile, "I'll kill him."

"Um, please don't Auntie, I want to start an international incident. That and I don't have bail money…" pleaded Canada quietly.

"I won't literally kill him, we're always teasing each other like this," explained Ireland, pulling the umbrella and other outlandish garnishes out of the drink.

"The name of it doesn't bother you at all?" asked Canada, almost smugly.

"Considering I've resolved not to do anything before marriage, this is probably the closest thing to an Irish-French kiss I'll ever have," chuckled Ireland, forcing a broad smile.

"But, you both love each other. No offense Aunty but they way you guys are always teasing…it's like watching love stuck first graders," said Canada, "Why can't you just let yourself be with him? It's almost painful thinking about you doing this to yourself."

"Painful? Yeah…I guess that's one way to put it," sighed Ireland lightly, "But if our little game of chase ends, if we stop playing these dumb tricks on each other, if we got serious…I have no guarantee that he'd stay…Besides, I know I'm not the only one he feels that way about."

Canada nodded. It was true, France was the self proclaimed 'country of love' but certainly not one who was known for fidelity. France and Ireland's relationship was an innocent and teasing one. If that relationship changed, there was a good possibility it could fall appart. Ireland wanted a single, faithful partner while France preferred multiple open relationships. Canada sighed a little and looked over his shoulder at Prussia. What about Prussia? If they ever did establish a relationship, would the same danger be there? Would things slowly deteriorate if things became too serious between them? Would Prussia not just be satisfied with only him?

Canada finished his beer and gave it some thought. If he ever did face the same problem, he would not hold back. He would follow his heart to the bitter end. Seeing as there was a strong chance his heart would be trampled on with the ferocity of a bull at the Calgary Stampede, he would rather it be trampled on with no regrets. If his aunt could not, or would not, do the same, than perhaps she needed a different man in her life. One who would be faithful. One who had shown to care about her over the years. One she had a lot in common with.

"Hey Aunty…you and…you and Germany are pretty close right?" asked Canada hesitantly.

"Him? Yeah, he's my drinking buddy," said Ireland with a grin, "Couldn't be here tonight though, something about Italy getting his hand stuck in a toilet."

"Um…how often do you two go drinking?" asked Canada.

"Hm, maybe…I guess once a month, if our schedules let us," shrugged Ireland.

"And…does he invite you, or do you invite him…?" asked Canada, becoming more and more quiet.

"Come to think of it, he's always the one who asks and picks the place," mused Ireland.

"Does he…pull your chair out for you, pay for drinks, things like that?" asked Canada.

"Yeah, it's weird, he always does that, even though bar stools are a bitch to move. We usually go Dutch on the bill though. Why all the questions? Want to tag along sometime?" asked Ireland.

"N-no, just…wondering what sort of person Germany was…that's all," stuttered Canada.

"He's a good friend," said Ireland bluntly.

Canada sighed. He could not believe how oblivious Ireland was to poor Germany's feelings. Why would his aunt pine hopelessly after France when there was a good man who cared about her asking her out for drinks every month?

"Well, it's just…you like beer and potatoes, he likes beer and potatoes…you're kind of grouchy, he's kind of grouchy…and he got you all those rifles for the Easter Rising…" added Canada, trailing off almost sarcastically on the last point.

"Damn that rebellion ended badly…" groaned Ireland, "But we do have a lot in common, it's what makes us good friends."

"Then, maybe, you could maybe be…more than friends?" offered Canada.

Ireland stared at Canada in almost the same manner as she had been staring at the girly cocktail France sent her, "The man got BDSM porno mags from Santa Clause…I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with that."

"Oh, uh, right…" mumbled Canada, blushing brightly at the memory.

The two finished their drinks and grinned at each other, Canada slightly buzzed by the large amounts of alcohol in his system. They looked over at the bad touch trio playing their game while a pair of pining blonds watched their love interests hopelessly from across the room. All the while Canada and Ireland had only one thought running through their minds.

'_God you're __really__ dense…'_

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><p><em>Just a quick side note on Ireland's ecplaination of Canada's sexuality. It's the opinion I got from an anthropologist who studies LGBT history in particular. If you think it's wrong, take it up with her :P <em>


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